


What he left behind

by Elenluin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: After the oath, Gen, Goodbyes, Hurt/Comfort, Oath of Fëanor, Tirion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:17:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenluin/pseuds/Elenluin
Summary: Makalaurë says his goodbyes after swearing the oath. His wife loves him dearly, and understands more than he thinks.





	What he left behind

Makalaurë opened the front door, careful not to make a sound. Despite the unsettling everlasting darkness, he was well aware that he was arriving in the middle of the night.

The hinge creaked, and he held his breath for a moment while he tried to subdue the fury that suddenly rose inside.

After so many years of absence, he could not expect everything to have remained as it was before he had left. He knew that. Yet the sound of the hinge irritated him beyond measure.

After all that had happened, it was this small, unexpected failure of his own front door that made him want to punch the wall with his fist no matter how much it would hurt. Everything about these days was off, every single thing. He reminded himself he shouldn’t make too much noise, and marshalled his will to compose himself.

When he closed the door behind him, it was with softness rather than the loud bang that would have so satisfyingly vented his frustrations. He stepped through the hallway into the dining room and took a deep breath. He was calm again, or as calm as he could be these days.

It seemed his efforts to be silent had been obsolete though. His wife rose her head from the table as soon as he entered the room. He took a moment to take in the scene. He supposed she must have been walking the paths of dreams, she looked sleepy and dishevelled and the only light was that of a single candle burning low.

She was beautiful.

The light of the delicate flame reflected on her face and lightened up her dark hair. He took a step closer. “Veri.” He realised he had spoken in a barely audible voice. Yet she did seem to have heard him.

“All night I hoped that you would return.” She said, her eyes alert, unlike only an instant before, wandering over his face as if she was looking for something.

“I am here.” He simply replied. He was glad that he had at least had had that moment in the hallway to compose himself. It would not have been right to approach her while still so furious, not with what he was going to tell her.

She lowered her eyes. “You are.” She paused a moment, then continued. “But for how long?”

Though she tried to hide it, he could hear the sadness in those words. It was not that her voice had quavered, yet just her intonation had told him she had guessed why he had come home. He cursed his musician’s ear for observing the subtle inflections of her voice at such a time as this. He did not doubt she had caught his own distress too. She was even more sensitive to such things than he was.

He had hoped to delay this conversation until the morning. If he had not noticed her sadness, he very well might have. He was too tired for this. It seemed years since he had last rested, though in reality only days had passed. The emotions of the events that had taken place in those days were still raging through his veins though, and until he could get rid of them, he would not sleep, that much he knew. If only he could take his harp and play, as he usually did to find peace when he was this restless.

No longer. His days as a musician were over.

The Makalaurë of the past would have sat himself down on his doorstep and would have played without any concern for what was happening in the world. But now the darkness scared him, loathe as he was to admit it. The vast night sky touched something in his heart that he had never felt before. This wasn’t the darkness of which his grandfather had spoken fondly when he had told the tale of the waking at Cuivinien. This wasn’t the darkness through which the first pioneers had found their way here, lured by the light that was promised by the Valar. This was the darkness of hatred, the darkness of search and pursuit, the darkness that spoke of unknown danger, of breaking free of the protected environment that Aman had ever been. A darkness he longed to embrace in order to find the light again.

No, his fear was not for the dark itself, but for the yearning that came with it. 

He realised that he had been silent for a long time when she shifted and her chair made a creaking noise. He thought back to her last words and finally decided to answer her question.

“Not very long, no.” He fiddled with the ring that he had worn around his little finger for many years and lowered himself on a chair opposite her. With a soft thud, he placed the thin silver band on the table next to the candle.

“I saw you. I was there. I saw you with your father and brothers and knew that this would happen.”

Surprised he met her regard. He had not spotted her in the crowd. There had been so many. “You came there? Even with the boy?” To think that his son, small as he may be, had seen his father in such a fury. If he had known that…

“No. Of course I didn’t take him with me.” She interrupted and he lowered his eyes as he recognised a flash of anger in hers. She was right, he should not even have doubted her. She would never do such a thing. “Makalaurë, listen, you don’t have to explain. I understand.”

He shook his head and stared at his hands. Long, strong fingers, which had held the hilt of a sword more than the strings of a harp these last years. Exploring how his father’s weapons behaved themselves in friendly fights with Maitimo had been one of his favourite pass-times in Formenos. His father’s banishment had incited many changes, and not all bad. The sound of the clashing of those first swords had somehow been satisfying a part of him that he had not known existed before.

“You don’t,” He looked up again, only to see that now it was her turn to stare at the table. “How can you understand, if I don’t even understand this myself?”

“I know you Makalaurë,” she murmured. “I have always known that there was a risk that I would lose you. I have never doubted where your loyalties lay. With what has happened these last few days, I knew your father would call for you.” A pained grimace crossed her face. “Though I must confess that I had not thought it would go this far. I fear for the day that you will leave. I cannot follow, not this time….”

“I know that. You need to stay here, with the boy.” He could not speak his son’s name. It would hurt too much. “I know that. Such a journey would be your undoing and he, he needs to be protected. But I… I cannot stay. Though it has nothing to do with my father.” He studied her reaction. He could only hope that she indeed would understand one day. Perhaps he should say nothing more and leave her with the idea that his father had demanded his presence, that a dutiful son would not be able to refuse to join his father seeking revenge for his grandfather’s murderer. That the great Fëanor wanted his sons to be by his side when he hunted for the gems that could make everything right again, the stones that they said could revive the trees that had been so cruelly taken from them by that treacherous Maia. It was the story his married brothers would tell their wives, that his cousins would tell their girlfriends, that tonight hundreds of men would tell their beloved families.

But it was not _his_ reason to join in in the oath, or at least, it was not the only reason.

He took a deep breath. “Even when father wouldn’t have requested me to join, I would have decided to leave. There is a restlessness inside of me that I can no longer hide. Sooner rather than later, this longing would have driven me away from you, from our home. It is not father’s fault, nor is it yours. It is of my doing, and mine alone.”

She stood up and walked over to his side of the table, leant down and kissed his forehead. “Oh my bard, if you would only be half as skilled in expressing your own thoughts and emotions as you are in understanding those of others. I do understand this. Even if you won’t speak, your music talks for you. The restlessness, the longing for a different life, for something more, the hidden anger every time your father and uncle fought again, the fire inside of you that is awaiting its chance to leap out. I have heard them all for many years. And as if they were not enough, the silence that surrounded you these last twelve years of banishment sounded even louder. You have not created a single piece in all that time. I haven’t even heard you sing except when your father or brothers or I explicitly requested you to perform. At first I attributed your silence to the changes that we were going through after having a child. Perhaps even to the fact that we had to move away from our home so soon after he was born. I had thought things would improve when the little one grew up, but I understand now that that was never the cause of your distress. You are a son of your father, whatever people say, and while you have succeeded in tempering the flames of your soul for many years, I see the day has come that you no longer can.”

He wondered if she wasn’t more right than she knew. If it wasn’t indeed as she said, that he was afraid of the changes that a child brought to his life. He loved the boy and was ever more concerned about his future. Which was why he had to leave. He shook his head, “I’m sorry.”

She reached out for the ring and pressed it in his hand again. “Keep this, so you’ll remember me even when you are far away. Come back when you are ready.”

He was sorely tempted to accept her offer, that encompassed so much more than a simple silver band. But he had made his decision and so he softly took her hand in his and pried it open. He laid back the ring and closed her fingers around it. “You have to be free. This oath we swore is not to be taken lightly. If you were there, you know that. I cannot see the end of this, my love, but I knew when father swore in the name Eru himself, that our journey will be dark and full of peril. It would ease my heart to know that you are safe here, and free.”

She shrugged. “What difference does it make if you wear the ring or not, we are bound together Makalaurë Kanafinwë. We are bound by our vows, by our love and by the child we share. That will not change.”

“Dearest,…” he hesitated, “Many here in Tirion will not approve. They will whisper and gossip, and my uncles might not want to interfere on your behalf.” He took a deep breath. “Please, do not look for me after tomorrow comes. The family of Fëanor has made many enemies lately, and it would be wise to stay away from that name. Very few know you in the city of Tirion, and those who do, they care for you. Please. Hide whom was once your husband. Live your life, take care of our boy, play your music, find someone who is worthy of your love. Live, but do not think of me. It will only cause you pain.”

“Makalaurë, you cannot do this to me. Do you really think people will not know?” It was a mere whisper.

It touched him to the core, and for a moment he faltered, despite his earlier resolve. He wanted to say something, hesitated and closed his mouth again. No words would come to his aid this time.

Then, unexpectedly she spoke again. “The oath… You will be doomed if you stay, and doomed if you go. Such an oath… It will haunt you for eternity…” She leant her head in her hands, hiding her face from him once more and he knew she had finally understood.

He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I fear the same. Still I will leave. In taking this curse far away from you, from the boy, I might at least do something good.” Hesitantly he rose from his chair. He was standing before her and longed to take her into his arms, to comfort her as he had done so many times before, but he felt he had just given up the right to even do that. Instead he laid his hands on her frail shoulders and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “Farewell, Veri. I will not forget. Teach the little one well.”

She did not look up and he did not need to see to know that she was crying. Weary beyond measure he went up the stairs to pick up the few belongings that he had wanted to take with him. Aside from some basic clothing and a quiver filled with his best arrows, he did not take much. Then his regard lingered on the small harp that stood in the corner of their bedroom. Would he ever play again? She had been right, he had not composed anything worth hearing in the last twelve years and now he doubted if he ever would. Still. He had been a musician before he had been anything else. In the spur of the moment, he stowed the harp into its sleeve and slung it over his back. The bow would have to go perhaps. He would give the arrows to Ambarussa, they were better hunters than he in any case.

He did not re-enter the living room again, nor did he look where she had gone. He would not have found the strength to leave if he had.

When the door fell shut behind him, a weight fell off shoulders. Now he truly was free.

The stars were brightly shining in the dark, the air was still warm and pleasant and he smiled. The lanterns in his father’s house up the hill close by were extinguished, he saw. Perhaps Fëanor too had said his goodbyes to his wife by now. It was time to go.

He mounted his stallion, but held back for a moment as he heart other hooves sound through the darkness. Moments later, a white horse approached, carrying his eldest brother towards him.

“Are you ready Kano?”

He simply nodded. If Maitimo saw the tears on his face, he did not comment on them. In silence they rode on towards Tirion upon Túna.  

Tonight their journey would start. A new life would begin.

The world was changing and Makalaurë Kanafinwë knew that whether for good or evil, he had made his choice.

 


End file.
